by Tim Ellis
He ended the call.
‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Sergeant.’
‘Alice Wheatley has committed suicide, Sir.’
‘Wasn’t she in hospital?’
‘She went to the toilet, locked the door and hanged herself. They said there’ll be an internal inquiry.’
‘Wasn’t there a female constable looking after her?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Heads will roll. I’ll make sure of it. Right, I’m going home to re-charge my batteries. You can go once you’ve found out who that good Samaritan is, and I’ll meet you here at eight-thirty in the morning.’
‘Okay, Sir.’ It didn’t look as though he was going to get his coffee.
‘And don’t be late.’
‘No, Sir. Goodnight, Sir.’
‘Goodnight, Sergeant.’
Stick remained staring at the whiteboard after the door had closed. Was it even possible that Tubman might be right? Could the hooded man be the good Samaritan? Did he know one or more of the victims? It wouldn’t be the first time a number of people had been killed to cover up one specific murder. Was that what was happening here? Was the motive revenge? He shook his head in disbelief. Why go to such elaborate extremes to cover up one murder? It wasn’t believable.
His phone vibrated again.
‘Hello, Mademoiselle.’
‘Hello, Rowley.’
His heart leapt at the sound of her voice. ‘Where are you?’
‘At the hospital with Xena.’
‘Oh.’
‘She wants to talk to you.’
‘Well, I don’t want to talk to her.’
‘Do it for me?’
He sighed.
Xena came on the phone: ‘I’m sorry, Stick.’
‘You’ve said that already.’
‘I was drunk.’
‘You’ve said that already.’
‘I did ask Frankie to call you.’
‘You’ve said that already.’
‘Will you stop saying that?’
‘You’ve . . . What do you want me to say instead?’
‘I want you to say you forgive me?’
‘I’ve got a new partner.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Chief has drafted in a new DI to replace you.’
‘Temporarily?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe?’
‘Maybe I prefer working with DI Ralph Tubman from Robbery at Bishop’s Stortford much more than I like working with you.’
‘Do you?’
‘The man’s an idiot and a megalomaniac, but at least I know what to expect from him.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve said that already.’
‘What can I do to make it better between us?’
‘I’ll write a list.’
‘A list?’
‘Or I could ask the Chief to make DI Tubman’s loan deal permanent.’
‘I look forward to reading your list. Are you going to tell me about the case?’
‘Are you going to get better?’
‘I’ll be back to work in a couple of weeks. It’ll be just like it was before.’
‘You haven’t read the list yet.’
‘Are you going to blackmail me?’
‘I could ask the Chief . . .’
‘No, that’s all right. You can blackmail me if you want to.’
He could hear snuffling. ‘Are you crying?’
‘Have you ever known me to cry?’
‘Yes. All right, I’ll forgive you, but . . .’
‘It’ll never happen again, Stickleback.’
‘If it does . . .’
‘It won’t.’
‘Put Jen back on.’
‘I told her you’d forgive her,’ Jenifer said when she came back on the phone.
‘Did you?’
‘Of course. You’re much too nice to stay mad at her for long.’
‘You know me too well, Mademoiselle.’
‘Are you at home?’
‘No. I’m still at the station, and I’ve got to drive to the hospital to talk to the security staff there.’
‘Should I wait here for you?’
‘No, you go home.’
‘Xena wants to know if you’re going to come and visit her?’
‘I might stick my head round the door.’
‘She asked if you could bring her something to read.’
‘Such as?’
‘The file.’
He smiled. ‘Tell her she’s off the case.’
‘I’ll see you at home, Rowley.’
‘Okay. I love you, Jen.’
‘I love you too, Monsieur.’
***
‘Where are you going?’
He stopped and turned his head to look at her. ‘So I report to you now, do I?’
‘I was only asking.’
‘What’s along this corridor?’
‘The kitchen, the Chief’s office, the stairwell . . .’
‘And?’
She looked away. ‘The toilet.’
‘Is it all right with you if I spend a penny, Little Miss Nosy?’
‘Are we going home afterwards?’
‘Do you want me to stand here answering your questions when I’m on my way to the toilet?’
‘It was only one question.’
‘Don’t you have a database query to input?’
‘I have a million things to do.’
‘Well, get on with them then, and stop wondering what I’m doing all the time.’
‘I . . .’
He didn’t stay to listen.
What he wanted to do was pay Mr Marmite a visit. If the man was taking Richards out tonight he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.
Instead of going to the toilet, he diverted into the stairwell, took the stairs two at a time, and went to forensics.
‘Which lab is Josh Marmite occupying?’ he asked the pinch-faced receptionist – Freda Hudson.
‘Along the corridor – number seven.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
He didn’t bother knocking.
There were two of them in there.
‘Don’t you have some pot to smoke?’ he said to the other technician who had more hair on his head and hands than a gorilla.
‘I have lots, but I didn’t think it was allowed in a police station.’
‘I hear the roof is a good place for stress-relief.’
‘I’ll go take a look, shall I?’
Once the door had closed he said to Marmite, ‘You’re taking my daughter out tonight.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, now you do. I thought I’d come up here for a little chat.’
‘A chat?’
‘A friendly chat.’
‘I see.’
‘There are rules.’
‘There are?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think I have an idea what those rules might be.’
‘I’m glad about that, but just so there’s no misunderstanding between thought and deed, shall we go over them?’
‘If we must?’
‘We must.’
‘I expect that rule number one is: If I hurt her in any way my life won’t be worth living?’
‘I think we understand each other, Josh. There’ll also be a considerable amount of pain, bloodshed and suffering before you reach the hospital and the doctors pronounce said life not worth living.’
‘We understand each other, Inspector.’
‘Good. Rule number two?’
‘No sex on the first date?’
‘I think five is a nice round number.’
‘Five dates! She’ll think . . .’
He glowered at Marmite and cracked his knuckles. ‘I’m not particularly interested in what my daughter thinks.’
‘Five dates – that se
ems a reasonable number.’
‘Excellent. There’s one final rule.’
‘Oh?’
‘If it even begins to look like you might marry her, you’ll change your surname legally to something that people don’t spread on toast.’
‘I rather like . . .’
‘Oh I’m not disputing it’s a catchy little surname that attracts the ladies, but I’m not having my daughter called Mary Marmite, or any grandchildren suffering years of psychological abuse because you wouldn’t do the decent thing.’
‘I’ve always liked the name Steel.’
‘Steel is a good name. Is there anything else you need further clarification on?’
‘I don’t think so, dad.’
‘Well, if there is you know you can always phone me day or night. And for future reference, calling me anything other than “Inspector” will result in the removal of your tongue.’
‘I understand.’
‘I’m glad we had this little chat, Josh.’
‘And me, Inspector.’
‘You took your time,’ Richards said when he returned to the squad room.
‘Do you want to know why I took my time?’
‘Has it got anything to do with the number two?’
‘Oh yes, the number two was a big part of what I’ve been doing.’
‘Then I don’t want to know.’
‘I didn’t think so. Well, have you input that query?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘Three hours.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sure the computer system is working to rule.’
‘It is getting slower, isn’t it?’
‘So, you’ll have to stay here and . . .’
‘I don’t think so. I have a date tonight.’
‘A date?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’
‘Oh yes! I vaguely remember something about you going on a date. I want you back by midnight.’
‘You do know that I’m a grown-up, don’t you?’
‘Midnight, or the fairy godmother’s spell will be broken and you’ll turn into a rotting pumpkin.’
‘A rotting pumpkin? I don’t recall the pumpkin ever rotting.’
‘You obviously didn’t listen to the whole story. Well, if you’re not going to wait here for the computer to finish its very important task, we may as well . . .’
She had already grabbed her coat and bag, and was half-way down the corridor.
‘Are you in a hurry?’
‘Not particularly. Do you realise this is the first date I’ve had since . . . Do you remember when I last went on a date?’
‘Dinosaurs roamed the earth.’
‘I don’t think it was quite that long ago, but very nearly.’
***
DI Tubman was right, they should have checked who had brought Giselle Hamill into the hospital. The argument over the sedative had distracted them.
It was quarter to seven when he arrived at the hospital. He checked the rules on the pay station and discovered that parking tickets were required twenty-four hours a day seven days a week, so he bought a ticket for three hours and placed it on his dashboard. He’d be there for an hour at most, maybe an hour and a half. Certainly not long enough to attract another ticket.
A security guard was loitering in reception, and it wasn’t even Friday night or throwing-out time in the pubs.
‘DS Gilbert,’ he said, showing his warrant card.
‘Bill Wadham. Used to be job myself.’
‘Really?’
‘The less said about that the better though. What can I do for you?’
‘I’d like to see your security recording from yesterday morning – between seven and twelve.’
‘You’ve got authorisation from the suits?’
‘It’s a murder inquiry – I don’t need authorisation.’
Wadham shrugged. ‘Fine by me. I’ll take you to the office.’
He followed Wadham along a winding route of corridors to the security office.
There were two other men sitting in there watching television, and neither moved when Stick and Wadham entered.
‘Don’t trouble yourselves,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll deal with the man from the Time & Motion Department. You just sit on your fat arses and hurry up doing nothing.’
‘Shut the fuck up, Waddy,’ one of the men said without looking at them ‘We’re trying to watch a repeat of Pointless here.’
‘Grab a pew,’ Bill said.
They sat at the computer. Bill found the footage from the camera at the front of the A&E Department. He put it on x16 speed, and it didn’t take them long to identify Giselle Hamill being helped inside by a well-dressed man in his fifties wearing slacks, a striped shirt and a jacket – the time stamp was 10:15.
‘That’s him,’ Stick said. ‘I need the licence plate of his car.’
‘There you go,’ Bill said. ‘PW58 TJZ. Looks like an X-Type Jaguar to me. Not that I’m any kind of expert, but the father-in-law had one. Of course, that was before they put me away . . . Anyway, you don’t want to hear about that.’
‘Could you transfer a copy to DVD?’
‘Sure.’
Stick phoned the Duty Sergeant.
‘Sergeant Catalano.’
‘Rosanne – how are you?’
‘You’re not really interested in how I am, DS Gilbert. You want something, and you’re pretending to be interested until you get what you want. You’re like every man I’ve ever known. When you get what you want it’ll be hasta la vista, Rosanne.’
‘I’m really interested.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Well, I’m not good at the moment.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I think my husband is cheating on me.’
‘Surely not?’
‘He’s tired all the time. I say, “Let’s have sex?” He starts snoring.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Rosanne. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Follow him.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Yeah, I thought so. You’re just making soothing noises, but you don’t really want to help me.’
‘What about a private detective?’
‘On my wages?’
‘Ah!’
‘What?’
‘I know someone who has a bit of time on their hands tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Give me all the details.’
She told him her husband’s name, what he looked like, where he worked and his car registration number.
‘Leave it with me.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Rowley. Now, what did you ring me for?’
‘Oh yes! Can you run a number plate through the system?’
‘Anything for you.’
He told her what it was.
‘Andrew Ross, 54 Forest Lane, Chigwell. Very posh. The houses along there are worth over two million. Not that I keep abreast of current house prices you understand, but a girl has to do something to occupy her dreams.’
‘Thanks very much, Rosanne.’
‘You’ll ring me about that two-timing bastard?’
‘I’ll let you know what we find out, but I suggest you delay the execution until we have the evidence.’
‘It’ll be hard.’
He ended the call.
It would give Jen something to do tomorrow, seeing as she had the day off. She could be a detective for a day. She’d love that.
‘There you go,’ Bill Wadham said, handing him a DVD in a plastic case.
‘Thanks for your help, Bill.’
‘No problem.’ He went and sat on the sofa with the other two men. ‘Katie Price! Why do they always have Katie Price as a category?’
Stick let himself out.
At reception he discovered that Giselle Hamill had been transferred to Heather Ward on the second floor – the same ward that Xena was in.
He took the lift.<
br />
Giselle was looking a lot better than she had been when he’d last seen her.
‘Hello, Giselle.’
‘You’re a policeman, aren’t you?’
He showed his warrant card. ‘DS Gilbert. How are you?’
‘You know – so-so. I heard that the other woman had committed suicide.’
‘Who told you?’
‘It was on the news.’
‘A sad thing.’
‘I’ve thought about it, you know.’
‘Don’t do it, Giselle. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘It may not have been my fault, but I still did it. I still murdered Rob, and I still have to live my whole life knowing that I killed him to save myself.’
‘It’ll get easier. Are you seeing a counsellor?’
‘Yes. They sent a man with body odour to see me. You’re better than him.’
He smiled. ‘Then listen to what I’m telling you – it’ll get easier.’
‘I know. What do you want?’
‘Oh yes! Do you remember the man who brought you to the hospital?’
‘No. Who was that?’
‘He found you on the A10. You were in shock. He put you in his car and brought you here.’
‘He saved my life.’
‘And you don’t remember?’
‘No. The last thing I remember was running off into the woods, and then I woke up here.’
‘Maybe the memories will come back in time.’ He put a business card on the bedside table. ‘If you do remember anything else, will you give me a call?’
‘Okay.’
He squeezed her wrist. ‘And remember . . .’
‘. . . It’ll get easier?’
‘Yes.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘You can wake up now, Jerry Kowalski.’
She forced her eyelids open and saw Israel Voss sitting on a chair staring at her. ‘What have you done to me?’
His legs were crossed and he smiled. ‘I haven’t done anything to you yet. You’ll appreciate that it wouldn’t be much fun torturing someone when they’re unconscious.’
‘You’re going to torture me?’
‘Oh yes, and I’m really looking forward to it.’
Tears seeped from her eyes, ran down her cheeks and dripped onto her naked breasts.
‘I’ve always found crying to be a pointless activity, but feel free to cry if you want to.’
He had stripped her naked, and tied her wrists and ankles to a wooden frame . . .
